I was born and raised in New England, under those huge, bright skies, with air so crisp, you could taste it. I grew up saying things like, “wicked cool” and “New Hampsha.” We had more months with snow, than without. The one month out of the year that was actually hot, was so humid you couldn’t walk to your car without a towel to mop up the sweat. The bugs were bad, the mountains beautiful. It was a way of life, and I loved it.
In a few weeks I am going to get to return to my beloved home state for a much overdue visit. I picked the best time to go-fall. You’ve heard all the rumors about how amazing fall in New England is, right? Every one of them are true.
From the blazing colors of the foliage, to the smell of billions of apples in an orchard, to acres and acres of pumpkin patches, it’s no wonder fall is legendary in New England. I’m going to get the thrill of sharing all that with my son, recall all the years I spent as a child crunching through the leaves, and get the joy of making new memories with people I care about.
Fall in West Virginia is nice too. It’s cool, and clean, and the leaves make a valiant effort to rival those in the north. I hesitate to even make a comparison though, because there really is no topping New England. Not to say we won’t enjoy the festivals and trick-or-treating. We’ll drink hot cider and carve pumpkins. It will be delightful.
I used to long to return to the southwest. I still love it there. I left a piece of myself in New Mexico, and every now and then I go visit it. I hold the memories of my son being born there close, and will always carry them with me.
The longer I live on the eastern side of the country though, the more I realize my heart is still in New England. It is engrained into every fiber of who I am, and there is no use fighting it.
I am a New England girl, through and through.